Frank Zafiro - And Every Man Has to Die

“I trust the pay is sufficient?” Val asked him.

“Oh yes!” Dmitri said, bobbing his head. “Very generous. Thank you.”

“Very well.” Val raised his cup and finished his coffee. Dmitri mirrored his actions, trying and failing to suppress a grimace at the harsh brew. “I will meet you here again tomorrow,” he told Dmitri. “If you’ve finished the project, we’ll make arrangements for delivery.”

“All right,” Dmitri said. “Should I call you?”

Val shook his head. “Whenever possible, don’t use the telephone.”

Dmitri shrugged. “Yes, Valeriy. I understand.”

“Good,” Val said. “Now, I will see you here tomorrow.”

Dmitri rose and reached for his wallet.

Val waved his money away. “Please,” he said. “It is my pleasure.”

Dmitri offered his hand. Val shook it. The larger man’s palm was cold and clammy. “Thank you,” he told Val before turning and leaving.

Val watched him go, absently wiping his hand on a napkin. As much as the man presented himself as a bumbler, he was the finest armorer Val had ever known. If he said he could have the rifles ready in two days, then he’d probably finish in one. And that meant-

“Sir?”

Val glanced up. An older man with a round belly and thick black mustache stood in an apron next to his table. “Yes?”

The man pointed to the recently vacated chair. “May I sit?”

Val nodded.

The man lowered himself into the seat. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table top. “I have a problem, sir,” he said.

Val said nothing. He watched and waited.

The man cleared his throat. “This is my place,” he began, motioning with his hands. “I start it up when I come here to America almost two years ago.”

“You are Ukrainian?” Val asked.

“Georgian,” the man answered. He held out his hand. “Pyotr,” he said.

Val shook his hand without saying his own name. Either the man knew who he was or he didn’t. “What is your problem?” he asked.

Pyotr lowered his eyes. “It started with my daughter,” he explained. “She does not listen to me like she should, much to my shame. She has become all too American.” He shook his head sadly. “And then she took up with these black boys who drive the cars with all the thumping music. You know the ones? They wear the baggy clothing, too.”

“I know them,” Val said. “But many young men behave that way.”

Pyotr nodded. “Yes, but these boys… these chernozhopyi … they are more than just young troublemakers.”

“How so?”

Pyotr glanced around the empty coffee shop, then leaned forward. “Two of them came to me three days ago. One of them, he is the one who my daughter calls her boyfriend, he tells me that I must pay protection for this business. He acts like he will help me somehow, but all he wants is money.”

“How much did he ask for?”

Pyotr named a figure.

Val shrugged. “Every week? That is not so much. Maybe you should pay. That way, you keep your business and your daughter is happy.”

Pyotr’s eyes widened and flashed with anger. “I do not want my daughter to be happy with this black ass.” He shook his head. “No, I will not pay. A penny that they demand today will become a dollar tomorrow.”

“Then you have a problem,” Val commented. Inside, he felt a tickle of anger at these gangsters trying to move into what they should have easily recognized was not their domain. But they’d be dealt with shortly. Perhaps, though, he could find a way to profit more fully from the plans that he and Sergey had already set into motion.

“I know I have a problem,” Pyotr said. “That is why I am sitting here with you.”

“What can I do?” Val asked.

Pyotr smiled and leaned back, turning his palms up. “I am not a young man, Valeriy Aleksandrovich Romanov. Not a foolish one, either. I know the power that you wield in our world. I would like your help.”

Val showed no sign of surprise or interest. “Again, I ask-what can I do?”

Pyotr leaned forward again. “I can pay you instead. You can protect my business.”

Val pretended to consider momentarily, then shook his head. “I cannot.”

“Why?”

“It isn’t enough money,” Val said. “It isn’t worth doing battle with those types of people.”

Pyotr licked his lips nervously. “I… I can pay more. How much would-”

“We are not interested in such smalltime activities,” Val told him. “They tend to be very costly.”

“But-”

Val pushed back his chair as if to stand. “I am sorry, my friend. But you are on your own.”

Pyotr stared at him in surprise. “You would abandon your countryman to these jackals?”

Val returned his stare for a long moment. He thought about pointing out that the Ukraine and Georgia were not the same nation, but he knew what Pyotr was driving at. They had spent long enough under the same flag to be considered countrymen. Especially here in America.

He pulled his chair forward. “No. When you put it that way, I see your point.”

“Thank you,” Pyotr said.

“But we are not in the business of protection,” Val continued. “We are in the business of business.”

Pyotr nodded as if he understood, then stopped suddenly. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Val said, “that I will protect this business from those black gangsters and any other threats because it will be my business.” He gave Pyotr a penetrating stare.

Pyotr was aghast. Then anger seeped into his expression. He began shaking his head, stammering, “No, no, I won’t-that isn’t why I-how can you-?”

Val held up his hand, silencing the older man. “You have asked me for something. I have granted it. I would be very insulted if you were to retract your request now.” He leaned forward himself and asked, “Do you want to insult me, Pyotr? Since you know my name so well, I can only imagine you know about me just as well. You know that those blacks are nothing to fear in comparison.”

“No,” Pyotr croaked. “I know that.”

“Good.”

“But sir…,” Pyotr pleaded, “this business… it is all I have. It is how I feed my family.”

“And it will continue to feed your family,” Val said.

Pyotr looked at him, a mixture of doubt and gratitude in his eyes.

Val gave him a rare smile. “You asked if I could abandon a countryman to the jackals. I cannot. Nor can I make a man destitute. This coffee shop will feed you and your family, Pyotr.”

“I… I believe you,” Pyotr said, unconvinced. “But how do you mean?”

“I will buy the place from you,” Val told him. “It will be a secret arrangement. You will remain the owner as far as the rest of the world is concerned. You may draw a salary for yourself. We’ll discuss it later and decide what is fair. You can even hire some of your family members to work here, if you want.”

Pyotr nodded sadly, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Don’t worry about the books,” Val instructed. “I’ll hire an accountant who will take care of everything. You just run the place, play the part of owner, and take care of your family. Is that acceptable?”

Pyotr stared down at the table between them for a long while. Val waited patiently. He knew the man had no choice at this point. If he refused, the black gangs would squeeze him. Worse yet, he would face Val’s wrath, which would be a hundred times greater. If he accepted, he would have some financial security, but he would be surrendering his dream. And he wasn’t foolish enough not to know that Val would funnel dirty money through the business to launder it. If it ever came down to the police or the IRS poking around, he’d be on the hook.